BANG!
The thunderous roar of a bolter round tore through the air, and the grating clamor came to an abrupt halt.
Splurt!
All that remained was blood-soaked sand mingled with shredded flesh, dust, and torn fabric—indistinguishable from one another, a horrifying sight.
Not far away, the Black woman, Janka, collapsed onto the ground, her body drenched in blood. Her face was blank with shock. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused, her mouth slightly open in an "O" shape, as if she had yet to recover from the massive blow.
The other surviving members of the Madrigal resistance scrambled backward in a panic, crawling and stumbling in utter disarray. Their gazes toward the Astartes and the Spartans were filled with naked terror.
Their eyes followed the descent of a mutilated head as it fell, rolled, and tumbled across the sand. A thick black ponytail half-covered the face, the strands soaked in blood and grit.
It rolled into a shallow depression in the sand and came to a stop, lying there motionless, staring with clouded eyes at the resistance survivors whose expressions varied wildly. The sight was both sinister and grotesque.
Those murky pupils seemed to retain a trace of resentment, as if still condemning them for cooperating with the United Nations Space Command and betraying Madrigal's liberation cause.
"Guan..."
"They killed..."
"Shut up!"
Hearing her comrades rambling recklessly behind her, Janka snapped back to her senses and barked sharply. Her legs trembled as she forced herself upright, displaying a sharpness completely at odds with the crude racial stereotypes often cast upon her.
"Guan was killed by those alien bastards! Remember that!"
To have survived the Covenant's assault and slaughter meant these few were not entirely fools. They knew how to hide, how to endure, how to survive. One might even call them quick-witted... well, perhaps stray survivors of Western "happy" education.
Perhaps limited by information, perspective, and education, they sometimes appeared ignorant. But they were not stupid. In fact, they were quite cunning.
The remaining few nodded frantically like pecking chickens, signaling that they understood.
Only after sealing her comrade's loose tongue did Janka dare glance at the "UNSC forces" watching as if amused spectators. She hardly dared to breathe. From the corpse of the comrade beside her, she tore off a large piece of cloth and gently covered the severed head.
"Haa..." Catching sight of the giant across from her lowering his weapon, Janka finally let out a breath of relief. Her body went rigid, then collapsed backward as she gasped heavily.
We survived.
At the same time, she could not help but resent Kwan Ha. She had nearly dragged every remaining living soul in the outpost to their deaths.
Even if you harbor hatred, you can bury it deep inside. Pretending to abandon independence on the surface does not mean abandoning it forever. Survive first, and you will have more opportunities, won't you? Look at the situation—why insist on being stubborn at a time like this? Why utter such nonsense?
Click.
"So there are still smart ones," the Night Lords officer remarked calmly.
Just now, if that girl had spoken one more word, every resistance survivor here would have died.
The searing memories of hatred toward the UNSC, the reality of her father's death in battle, and the possible collapse of the lifelong purpose instilled in her since childhood—such a chain of blows was more than enough to push a not-yet-mature girl into emotional breakdown. Extremes and foolishness were common under such circumstances.
From a societal perspective, it was understandable.
But understanding did not mean indulgence. The Astartes would not tolerate it.
If we had truly been responsible, perhaps that would be one thing. But we were not the ones who led them here. To smear us with that filth? No Astartes would endure such slander.
Not to mention that they were alive only because we arrived in time. Otherwise, they would all be dead. And they are not even citizens of the Empire. Saving them is not an obligation—merely convenience.
To repay mercy with slander and hostility... that is courting death.
Those who can save can also kill.
Lowering his still-smoking bolt pistol and disengaging it from firing mode, the Night Lords officer waved his hand indifferently. "Withdraw."
Bzzzz—whoosh!
The space-time teleportation modules within their power armor activated instantly. Fine arcs of electricity enveloped them, linking together through each individual Astartes as anchor points. Even the four Spartans and the bound Sangheili prisoners at the center were wrapped within the array.
In the next instant, a flash of violet light.
Reflected in the pupils of Janka and the other resistance survivors was nothing but the shattered drilling outpost and a ground strewn with corpses.
...
Rrip~
Inside the warship.
Flash! Flash! Flash!
Dense violet lights flickered across the trans-spatial teleportation operations hall as dozens of fully armed Astartes materialized out of thin air upon the circular deck.
The Night Lords officer straightened and gestured toward a staff member holding a data slate. "We have guests. Make preparations. Something uniquely Imperial."
"Yes, sir!"
"Oh, and one more thing." He glanced at the listless Sangheili prisoners and continued, "Prepare a premium suite for them. Arrange these xenos beside the interrogation chamber... Those alien apes are not all dead yet, are they? Serve them a little appetizer before the main course."
Turning, the Night Lords officer spread his arms. "Brothers of the Second Legion and the Twelfth Legion, how about handing the alien prisoners over to us?"
"Take them, take them. Interrogation and torture hold no interest for us World Eaters..." The leader of the World Eaters removed his helmet impatiently, shook his head, and slung his chainaxe over his shoulder as he led his companions toward the exit of the operations hall.
"If you ask me, just use Shingu: Mindseer to rip their memories out. If they're uncooperative, chop them up. Why make it so complicated? Sigh... You Night Lords really enjoy execution and torment. Can't understand the hobby."
"I heard General Esdeath is an expert in that field too..."
"You've seen it? Not just rumors?"
"Haven't seen it myself, but I have a friend serving in the Imperial Guard in the Imperial Capital. He says General Esdeath often visits the Imperial Prison to 'cultivate her temperament.'"
...
The World Eaters gradually walked away, though their superhuman hearing ensured every word of complaint reached the Night Lords. They had not even bothered to lower their voices.
The Night Lords merely smiled, unconcerned. So what if they had a few hobbies? The pot calling the kettle black. From their perspective, the World Eaters' habit of chopping heads off at every turn lacked any sense of artistry. A bunch of brutes.
"Very well. We'll take them. Just don't forget to submit the interrogation report afterward."
"As for the four of them—you invited them aboard. If there's merit, it's yours. If there's fault, it's yours as well."
After thumping the Night Lords officer's pauldron, the Retributor from the Second Legion departed with his men.
Making an "OK" gesture, the Night Lords officer waved to the naval personnel within the hangar, signaling them to take the alien prisoners away.
Then he turned to the Master Chief and his team, who were surveying the ship's interior. "Follow me."
The Master Chief nodded silently and stepped after the Night Lord.
"What about your little ship? Do you need me to send someone to retrieve it?"
"No need. It's on autopilot. Just let it follow behind your warship."
"Oh? I see... Then tell me, soldier who has sworn to fight for humanity. I'm curious—why are you so certain we're the good guys? Why not assume we're rebels or space pirates? You agreed to come aboard our territory so readily."
"Are you not afraid of death?"
Thud! Thud! Thud~
Walking along the lengthy corridor, helmet hooked at his wrist, the Night Lords officer spoke as he moved. "Originally, I assumed it would take some force to invite you aboard. I did not expect it to go so smoothly."
"You are human. Rebels do not possess equipment this advanced. You have shown no hostility toward us so far. The Doctor ordered me to lead Silver Team and attempt contact with you."
Without hesitation, the Master Chief delivered his reasons in a concise recitation.
Stopping in his tracks, the Night Lords officer looked down at the man standing roughly 2.1 meters tall, clad in dark green light power armor—light, at least by Astartes heavy armor standards—and spoke seriously.
"You are an excellent soldier."
"I find myself increasingly inclined to recruit you into the Legion. If we are fortunate enough to bathe together in the radiance of the God-Empress..." With that, he resumed walking.
—The corridor was long.
Even though this was a specialized, lightweight Lunar-class cruiser, the Imperial Forge's pursuit of grandeur ensured that its massive corridors were constructed no less than eight meters high, allowing all standard Imperial units to pass through with ease.
On the left side of the deck directly beneath the warship's bridge lay a compartment repurposed into a banquet hall. Before even reaching it, one could already sense the lively atmosphere within.
When the doors opened, what greeted them was a luxurious, palace-style dining hall.
Guided by the philosophy that "people are iron and food is steel," every dining hall aboard the ship had been designed to be exceptionally spacious and lavish. Even while providing meals for the entire crew complement, there was still a surplus.
Along one side of the hall stretched a row of towering, magnificent arched viewports, beyond which lay the vast starry expanse of space.
Opposite them stood enormous gemstone-inlaid murals that mirrored the cosmic scenery outside. Upon them were epic bas-reliefs, painstakingly carved by countless master artisans.
Under the glow of the lighting, everything shimmered in resplendent gold.
Without grandeur, authority could not be conveyed. This was one of the Empire's customary "peaceful" methods during foreign expeditions—much like the way state banquets across nations spared no expense in environment and cuisine.
Inside the hall, goblets clinked. Augmented warriors and ordinary personnel were clearly distinguished. Behind the serving windows, exotic cuts of massive animal meats sizzled, oil popping as an enticing aroma filled the air.
And clearly, the green-armored Master Chief—though still wearing his helmet—betrayed subtle movements of his limbs that suggested his composure was not quite as steady as usual.
For the newly arrived guests, the Astartes and auxiliary soldiers showed neither excessive welcome nor unnecessary hostility or disdain. They simply carried on.
The Night Lord extended a hand toward the Master Chief. "This way, please... Hmm? 117, you still do not intend to remove your helmet?"
"Would you prefer to eat first and talk afterward, or talk first and eat?"
"Talk first."
"Very well." Taking a vacant seat, the Night Lords officer interlaced his fingers and transmitted a request through his internal comm channel. "Sir, request identification of signal frequencies in the A-2 dining sector. Lift interference restrictions."
After speaking, he looked at the four Spartans sitting upright across from him and gestured invitingly. "I look forward to us becoming comrades rather than enemies."
"Mm." The Master Chief nodded and turned to Spartan-028, who carried the communications pack.
"Connection to Command has been restored... The Doctor is online, Master Chief."
"Understood. Request permission to initiate projection."
"Granted."
The next moment—vmmm—
A beam of 3D projection light emitted from the Master Chief's helmet, rapidly constructing a life-sized image from top to bottom.
Soon, the figure of a Caucasian woman stood fully formed.
It was the Director of the UNSC Spartan Operations Division—Dr. Halsey.
"Hello," she said, leaning forward with both hands braced against the master control console in her laboratory on Reach. The hunger in her eyes was no longer concealed. "Greetings, unidentified augmented warrior."
"Greetings, madam on Reach."
Hearing the black-haired giant's reply, Halsey voiced her suspicion. "You do not belong to the UNSC, do you?"
Earlier, after dealing with the bureaucratic nuisances of the United Nations Space Command, Halsey had used her clearance to search every accessible UNSC laboratory and production facility. Not one met the requirements necessary to produce Spartan-II soldiers—let alone augmented warriors surpassing them.
It inevitably led her to a conclusion.
"These super-augmented soldiers, standing over 2.7 meters tall, are not products of human civilization. To be precise, they are not products of the Unified Earth Government."
Once that thought surfaced, it took root in her mind and refused to fade.
In order to obtain firsthand data—and to prevent certain officials from meddling—Halsey deliberately concealed the matter from Admiral Parangosky. She even employed the not-yet-completed "Clever"-class artificial intelligence to block the Security Council from accessing this segment of information.
Halsey was a woman with an intense desire for control. At the same time, she was ambitious. To satisfy her greed—or perhaps her thirst for knowledge—she was, in certain respects, quite mad.
In the past, to better execute the Spartan-II program, she required a large number of suitable six-year-old children as experimental subjects. The failure rate of the program was extraordinarily high. Naturally, most parents would never volunteer their children for such a near-suicidal experiment.
Thus, Halsey and the responsible UNSC officials chose a solution—kidnapping.
Yes. Officially sanctioned abduction of children. No shame whatsoever. The Master Chief—John-117—was one of those abducted as a child.
Was she purely evil? Entirely villainous? Not exactly. She was something in between—a shade of gray.
"Where do you come from?"
"We come from beyond the void."
"And for what purpose?"
"We come in accordance with the will of Her Majesty."
"..." That was it? That told her nothing of substance.
Halsey paused. "What exactly is your objective?"
At that, the Night Lords officer laughed heartily. "Madam, you will know soon enough."
"And when the time comes, I believe you will cooperate. Together, we shall make this world better... as an offering to Our Empress."